


let go

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (previous) - Freeform, Angst, Angst and Porn, Emotions, F/M, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fucking, Heterosexual Sex, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom, Shameless Smut, Smut, Topping from the Bottom, i blame GRRM, straight fucking, straights fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: “I’m sorry,” he says.I wish I wasn’t like this.“Practice makes progress,” says Brienne. “We’ll just have to keep trying.”And Jaime surprises himself with a laugh.





	let go

**Author's Note:**

> 11 August 2019.

“Like this?”

“Yes. Hold still.”

He’s more nervous than she is, he’s never done this with anyone but Cersei, and Brienne has never done it at all — he’s afraid to touch her, he’s afraid to break her —

She breathes in sharply.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

She’s lying, she bit her lip, but her _no_ was a _yes_, she means _go on,_ and so he does —

“More,” she says, and so he does

“There. Yes. Please,” so he does

— and all he can think is _Cersei. _He’s in a wonder at himself for doing this, for being here and now with her. Brienne.

First Cersei, and now Brienne. How unalike they are, even to how they take him, how he fits inside. From the start, Cersei felt a certainway — bearing his children, having and Robert (and Lancel and Kettleblack and Moonboy) in her body didn’t change any of that, not really, not the essentials of how he went into her. Her heat pressing down, her nails digging into his skin. _Jaime, harder._

Brienne is —

He shivers, kisses her, she clenches on him and _gods_ she’s good here beneath him, hot and sweating already, her thighs around his waist, and his one hand finds her hand where it’s gripping the bedclothes. _Hold me instead._

She whimpers.

“I’m sorry—”

Cersei hisses. _Shut up, stop talking, __take__ me —_

“_Please,”_ says Brienne. _“_Please don’t stop.”

He thanks the gods that Brienne is as strong as he is because he probably couldn’t convince himself to stop, even if she _told_ him to, probably he would bite her mouth and kiss her breast and lick the sweet salt from off her neck, even if she begged him to let her go, even if ...

“You’re holding back,” she says.

How would she know?

“Jaime,” and oh her voice catches on his name, he must have done something right — he tries again and she gasps again, says _Jaime, yes_ — “You work harder than this in the sparring ring, you work _me_ harder than this, you know I won’t,” she swallows, he was on that spot again — “You know I won’t break. I won’t fall apart. I don’t do that. Stop worrying about me.”

How can he stop worrying? “I have to be careful. You’re a maid,” he says, and he drops his face to her neck and bites down and she moans. Arches up. Gods she is _good_, she is hot and certain and her hands push down on his hips like she’s wanting more, wanting him to go deeper, he feels himself respond and he makes a noise

and Brienne laughs. It’s breathy, incomplete, nothing like her usual sound. “If I’m still a maid right now, we’re doing this wrong.”

He isn’t sure of anything but that this is right, right, utterly right. Everything about them brought them here — everything about the world was right for them to be here — she accepting and taking; him wanted, giving, taken.

Cersei.

She used to push him down and ride him, partly to shut him up — her hand on his mouth, her hand on his throat, saying _shut up Jaime shut up not so loud_ while he thrust into her body hard as he could do it, trying to get at that noise she held back from him. He sometimes thought it would be worth it if they were caught, worth being flayed and executed, to hear her cry out in her pleasure. To be loud himself.

Pain brings him back: Brienne has bit down on his shoulder.

He laughs aloud, can’t help it. “Violent wench.”

“Stop thinking about her,” she says. “You’re inside _me_,” pushing up, pushing him further in, “don’t you dare think about other women, don’t you _dare_.”

“I’m not.”

She shifts down and he gasps — the angle is so different, the pressure is so different — and she puts her legs around his waist and yes there, there, _Brienne_.

He shudders.

“There,” she says, “Jaime, please—”

and he shivers against her as she kisses him and kisses him, she doesn’t let him go, and he finishes inside her _(I didn’t ask _he thinks dimly but she’s crying out and it’s all pressure and release and he’s telling his body to withdraw but it isn’t listening)

and his head drops to her chest and he pulls out and she pushes up his head to kiss him, sloppy and sweet and smiling.

If he’s hurt her, if she regrets any of this, he’ll never forgive himself. Already he’s regretting it. _I’m sorry, _he thinks. _She ruined me. You deserve better._

Brienne pushes hair out of his face and finds his hand, twines his fingers with hers. “That was perfect,” she says. “Jaime, you’re perfect.”

And for a little while, he believes her.

**Author's Note:**

> porn is not my strong suit so please enjoy this very special episode of your normally-scheduled “Jaime Lannister has trouble with his emotions” show


End file.
